


Five Wars and a Moment of Peace

by DianaSolaris



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Alternate Universe - World War I, Alternate Universe - World War II, Gen, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Minor Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: In every universe, Shiro is a soldier. It's part of who he is.In some universes, he fails.Those are the ones he remembers.





	Five Wars and a Moment of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE heed the warnings!!! I've tagged this as Gen rather than as Sheith since there is only a small moment of Sheith that can also be read as platonic - it's essentially the same dynamic as in the show, which is ultimately up to interpretation.

**1917**

 

Something’s happened to his eyes. He can see but it’s blurred – blurred and broken vision, and his hearing is no better, filtering through to his brain in fits and starts –

“Shiro – don’t –“

He tries to speak, and can’t hear his own voice as more than a buzz – he screams, and then finally he hears it –

His vision clears just enough to see the face hovering over him. It takes a few tries, but eventually he deciphers what she’s saying – “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

“What happened to my men?” he tries to say again, but she shakes her head. What does that  _ mean-?  _ His mind’s eye supplies the answer, the last fragments of memory he can access – the whistle of the shell, the unending reaches of No Man’s Land above them, Keith’s terrified, mud-streaked face staring up at him –

“Keith!  _ Keith! _ ”

“He’s not here – Shiro, you need to  _ lie still – _ “

He tries to reach up and push her out of the way, but his arm won’t respond – he turns to look at it, and there’s nothing. Nothing left. He wants to scream. But there’s no air left in his lungs.

His head falls back against the pillow. The nurse takes his head and turns it back to him. She’s tall, with white hair tied in a sharp bun against her dark face. There’s scars on her cheeks. She’s seen her own battles.

“I’m going to give you some drugs to help you sleep.”

“I don’t want them –“

“I need to treat you.”

“Let me die,” the words fall out of his mouth. He can’t feel most of his body, and while part of his brain is trying to tell him  _ hush, you’re in shock, you’re in shock –  _ “just let me die, where’s Keith, I promised him I’d keep him safe – just let me die –“

He can see the needle slide into his skin even as he can barely process it, lips still forming the same words over and over again. Then the nurse, jaw set and neck muscles tense, says, “No. I’m not letting you. Nobody else is dying today. Nobody else.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and it’s the last thing Shiro hears before he slides into a sharp-edged blackness, the whistling of the shell following him into unconsciousness.

\---

**1940**

 

The sea beyond Dunkirk would be beautiful if it didn’t have them trapped, and Shiro watches the tides, trying to ignore the throbbing pain engulfing the left side of his body as Keith ties the tourniquet tighter.

“Is it too late to ditch our plans of a seaside cottage?” he manages to joke through gritted teeth. “I’ve had my fill of beaches, I think.”

Keith snorts. “They’ll – they’ll come get us. They just need time to put it together.”

“And in the meantime we get bombed?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

Shiro can’t help but glance at the hordes of the army they’re trapped with. What is it? Three hundred thousand men? An entire army, trapped and starving and bleeding –

“You’re right. They’ll come get us.” What he doesn’t say is,  _ No matter how tightly you tie that scrap of fabric, my arm won’t stop bleeding.  _ What he doesn’t say is,  _ You can’t fix a severed limb with love and determination and stubbornness.  _ What he doesn’t say is,  _ I’m sorry. _

But Keith seems to know it all anyway. Shiro glances over at him, sees the tears streaming down his drawn face – “Hey. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Keith wraps another bolt of fabric around the stump of Shiro’s arm, but his fingers keep shaking –

“Let me help.”

Shiro glances up, and the woman sits down between them, steady fingers securing the extra cloth around his arm. “Take a break,” she says to Keith. “Wash some of that dirt off your face. There’s no shortage of water.”

She examines Keith’s dressing with a half-smile that Shiro returns.

“I didn’t know there were any women here,” Shiro comments, trying not to make it sound too leering. He’s just curious.

“I’m the only one I’ve found. Please keep your voice down,” she replies with a drawl. “Men are such pigs when they get bored.”

Shiro eyes her short-cropped white hair, her snub nose – “Oh, you’re one of  _ those. _ ”

“A lesbian, Corporal. There’s a word for it. Use it.”

Keith’s down by the water, scrubbing Shiro’s blood off his hands. Shiro can’t stop looking at him, even as he asks, “How long do I have?”

“Upwards of a day. There’s still a chance.” She pauses, then looks him in the eye. “I wouldn’t bank on it. So whatever needs saying, I suggest you say it.”

He nods, not trusting his throat. She gets up, leaving them be – and when Keith comes back, Shiro runs the words through his head, making sure they’re perfect. He won’t have a chance to get it right a second time.

 

\---

 

**1951**

 

The minefield stretches between them like an ocean, broad and flat and uncrossable, and Shiro keeps his gaze aimed steadily at the figure standing helplessly in the middle.

“Shiro,” Lance whispers plaintively, feet shaking on the uneven ground. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t look behind you,” Shiro says as reassuringly as possible. “Look down and look for footprints. Where people have already walked. Okay?”

Lance nods, quivering. “I can do that. I -” He gulps. “I don’t want to die, Shiro.” His voice is so small, and Shiro remembers with a horrible, gut-wrenching jolt how  _ young  _ he is. “I want to - get married and have a baby and have a job and do all those stupid boring things… I wanna get up in the morning and have real breakfast at a real table.” He laughs shakily.

Shiro smiles encouragingly. “You will. I’ll even make it for you, how about that?”

Lance finds a footprint and eases himself into it, moving from his little mound of safe land. “Okay, uh, two eggs sunny side up, chorizo sausage…”

“Chorizo sausage?” Shiro laughs.

“I’m Cuban, you fuck, let me have my comfort food.” Lance finds another footprint, and it’s a little bit of a stretch, but he makes it, breathing heavily. There’s sweat pouring down his head, and he reaches up, adjusting his helmet with a trembling sigh. “Uh, chorizo sausage, and bacon. Yeah, both. Suck it. And  _ toast.  _ Real toast toasted in a toaster, toasty toast. Cut into those little triangles, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. Makes it taste better.” Shiro’s smile is slipping, so he shores it back up. “Look, you’re almost there.” He edges as close to the minefield as he can, hands ready and free to catch Lance if he needs to. 

“One more step. Alright, Sarge,” Lance quips. “One more step and then you better let them fucking send me home for some of that sausage.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Lance takes one more step - and something gives way, somewhere, uneven sand under his feet. He trips, reaching out for Shiro with clawing hands - Shiro leaps for him, trying to pull him out of the way and the mine goes off, impossibly loud and impossibly close. Sound cuts out; everything cuts out.

When they find Shiro, two hours later and missing half his arm, they tell him he did his best, that he tried, that he did everything he could. Staring at the empty part of his arm, the hand that was too slow, he thinks,  _ tell that to Lance. _

 

\----

**1969**

 

Their commander’s already on the radio reporting their victory against Viet Cong assailants by the time Hunk reaches the first body. Shiro watches from a distance, but the sense of wrongness is already tingling in his fingers, telling him,  _ this is wrong they didn’t shoot back they just screamed - _

It’s night, but he can still see the horrified look on Hunk’s face. “Sir.”

Their commander doesn’t respond.

“Sir! These are women and children, sir -”

“Teenagers,” the commander drawls. “Old enough to have been Cong.”

“You told us they were unloading weapons -”

“Probably were. You can’t trust a Viet, Private.”

Hunk struggles with his words in horror. “This was  _ wrong.  _ We have to - report it - try to make it right -” He can’t stop falling over his words, crying through them.

“Oh, stop your yammering. Are you a man or not? These things happen. And as far as I’m concerned, this was a success.”

Shiro finds his voice. “A success?” he echoes in disbelief. The rest of their unit is silent. Whether in guilt or apathy, he can’t tell, and the fact that he can’t tell is part of the horror, sliding between his ribs like a hot knife.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

He hears Hunk’s growl before anything happens, and Hunk runs at the commander - and stops, the commander’s machete at his throat preventing him from moving any further. “Do you want to be reported for insubordination, you fat fuck?” he says quietly. “Because don’t worry. It won’t get that far. I’ll just slit you open right here and let your carcass rot along with the gooks.”

Hunk swallows, then takes a step back. “Yes sir.”

Shiro’s the only one who catches that tone, the ambiguity of the answer - nobody else notices, or cares. Even when they turn and fall back into the forest, he and Hunk stand there among the bodies of innocents.

Shiro can’t stand that he’s still holding his gun, but his fingers won’t unlatch. They’re frozen onto it. “We were following orders,” he manages to say, but his throat is hoarse and it sounds like even more of a lie.

The look Hunk gives him burns into him. It leaves a scar with its silent reproach, its agony. Shiro waits, but Hunk doesn’t move from where he’s standing. 

“I’m going to catch up with them. You should come. Winning is the only way we’re going to get home.” They’ve won every battle they’ve fought. The war will be over soon. The little truths that just don’t add up, things that are true and yet still aren’t real.

He turns and follows the rest of his unit, and he can’t breathe, he doesn’t even know how he keeps walking, because when the sound he’s waiting for bursts through the air - the sound of a single gunshot going off and a quiet thud of another body settling onto the soft ground - he feels his identity, his peace of mind, everything he is empty out into a black and endless void. 

 

\---

 

**2008**

 

He’s surrounded by them, their faces a little scarred but grinning, fatigue caps pulled over their heads, and Shiro can’t shake the feeling that he’s been here before and that he’s in a car full of ghosts.

“Hey, hey guys, remember that fucking...Star Wars movie?”

“Which one, Pidge?” Allura retorts. “You might be too young to know, but there’s several - Ow!” She swats back at Pidge with a grin.

“I’m  _ nineteen,  _ you  _ bitch. _ ”

“God, that is  _ impossibly  _ young,” Lance laughs from the front. “Like, how are you not a fetus?”

“You unbelievable prat! We went to high school together!”

Shiro knows how he’s supposed to respond. But he realizes he knows what’s about to happen. “There’s a bomb,” he says.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing with dolls or something still?”

“Hunk, I expected better from you,” Pidge says with fake sadness. “That’s  _ sexist. _ ”

Shiro looks from face to face with growing panic. “There’s -” But they can’t hear him.

Keith is next to him, a small smile on his face as he takes it in. “Pidge, just threaten to shoot them, that usually works,” he adds.

“Isn’t that a bit mean?” says Allura.

“Pfft. I’m tough, I can deal with it.” Lance takes his eyes off the road. Shiro almost cries with frustration.

“Listen to me!  _ Listen to me - _ ” It doesn’t come all at once, the realization that he’s dreaming, but it doesn’t help. If he can change things once - just once - then maybe everything will be okay.

Time skips, and hiccups, and he’s offered one last look at their faces before he’s leaning over Pidge, trying to soothe her frantic breathing, trying not to look down at the mess of her legs, trying to stop her from looking around at the rag-doll bodies of their friends -

“I-” Blood bubbles from her lips. “I didn’t mean it, Shiro - I wasn’t gonna shoot them, I was just joking, they know that, right?” She tries to turn to look, and Shiro pulls her head back up to face him.

“Don’t look, Pidge, it’s okay, they’re gonna come help -” But he’s losing her - her eyes keep wandering, searching the sky for something that isn’t there. “C’mon, little one, you never finished telling me about that Star Wars movie. What was that about, huh?”

She laughs. “I hate sand. He, uh, says that - has a whole monologue ‘bout it. Just. How much he hates sand.” Each laugh leaves more blood spattered on her chin. “It’s… so fucking stupid. Stupid as fuck. Sand gets everywhere. Doesn’t even know the half of it.” 

“Save your energy, Pidge -”

“For what? I’m not gonna… gonna die and leave you hanging on my last  _ dumbass  _ joke…” 

“You’re not gonna die.”

Pidge smiles with a mouthful of red teeth. “Nice try. But… thanks.”

Shiro kisses her on the forehead and rests his head there until, a few seconds later, he can’t feel her breath on his chin anymore. Then he slumps onto the sand beside her, closing his eyes and waiting for the sound of helicopters, wondering if they’ll ever come or if he and his friends are just more acceptable losses.

 

\---

 

**2117**

 

Shiro wakes up with a whistling in his ears he can’t place, and his arm won’t stop hurting. This is only somewhat unusual; his dreams almost always leave him unnerved and reeling, like the world around him isn't quite real. But he finds himself getting to his feet with a new concern anyway. He needs to be sure. He needs to be sure.

Keith is the first one he checks on. His fingers search for his wrist, checking for a heartbeat, and before Keith's eyes do more than glint from under his eyelashes, he's gone again -  _ good, his heart is beating, good -  _ and it's Lance next. Lance  _ looks  _ fine, sprawled out facedown over the sheets of his bed, but Shiro strokes his cheek and presses his shaking fingers to Lance’s neck, searching for a beat there as well. He holds the rhythm in his head, and it's so loud that he can barely hear the footsteps behind him. In and out. In and out. Breathe and beat.

Hunk is already awake and blinking at him. Shiro grabs his hands, feeling how warm and alive they are, and he can feel the blood rushing in Hunk’s fingers, too. Alive.

Then Pidge. He presses his hand to the center of Pidge's chest, and her heartbeat resonates against his palm, and he's up and moving even before she can yell, "Shiro, what the  _ fuck - _ "

-he runs into Allura as he's on the way to her room, and she grabs his face, forcing him to pause. "Shiro. Shiro, what's wrong?" she asks.

Her touch feels like lightning, and he tears himself away, tottering backwards and almost falling into the rest of them. Each of them that he woke up - they're following after him, half-dressed and scared and touching their necks and wrists and chests, searching for those same heartbeats. Their eyes are bright and shining in the dim Castle light.

"You're alive," he breathes finally. He sits down against the wall, and he can't decide if he's humiliated or afraid or relieved or all of them all at once.

Allura is the first one to sit down next to him, leaving a little bit of space between his shoulder and hers. "Yes. Thanks to you, more than once."

He wonders if she means this reality, or if she has the dreams that he doesn't - the ones where he succeeds, instead of the ones where he failed. It's hard to believe.

Keith is the next to sit down by him, crosslegged in front of him. Then Lance, next to Keith - Pidge, by Shiro's side - Hunk, between Keith and Allura - until all five of them are circling him, close enough to touch, letting him decide.

He leans to the side until his head curls into Allura's shoulder, and his fingers twine into Pidge's hand. Slowly, he invites each of them in, until he can feel their heartbeats in his hand, his shoulders, his chest, his cheeks.

"Thank you," he finally says out loud, and he's surprised at how small his voice is. But nobody pokes fun, or laughs - they just hold him that little bit tighter, giving him what reassurance they can.

Shiro listens to his own heartbeat as it slows, evens out, and then steadies into a rhythm. It gives him what he needs - a moment of peace in the storm. 


End file.
